Seven Times Spock Misunderstood
by SallySorrell
Summary: ...and the One Time he Understood Perfectly. In which Spock is confused by idioms. Mild and fluffy. Just like the series, it can be read with or without the slash.
1. Keep in Touch

"We'll see you soon, Bones," Jim waited in the Transporter Room, between his First Officer and Chief Medical Officer. They stood in an impressively improvised triangle; each an equal distance from the others.

"Three months," Spock said, "two weeks, and two days. Measured in your earth time, of course."

The doctor rolled his eyes. He muttered something like, 'don't remind me', which Captain Kirk grinned at.

"An estimate," the Vulcan offered. His fingers found the distressed switches, "Prepare to beam down."

"You'll come back better than ever," the captain said. He patted his friend's shoulder, just once, "And we'll miss you."

"_We _will?" Doctor McCoy rocked back on his heels, allowing the lights to smudge over his eyes. He stared at the captain.

Spock did not answer. The situation did not demand one, other than 'goodbye.' This was scheduled for the last possible moment of their interaction.

"Keep in touch," McCoy mirrored the pat, fingers curling protectively around Kirk's arm, as far as they could reach.

Spock glanced between them; the hand and the shoulder, the doctor's crooked but well-intentioned smile and the captain's reassuring eyes, the suitcase and the tricorder that fought for space in the doctor's unoccupied hand. McCoy tapped his communicator as he stepped onto the platform and found his preferred space.

"Goodbye," said Spock, staring only at the switch-board before him.

"That hardly seems _logical_," McCoy waited for his attention, "Why not 'au revoir'?"

Spock said nothing.

"'Until we meet again,'" Kirk's voice was quiet as he shoved the words together, sheltering Spock from embarrassment. He would not confess to feeling it, but Kirk was sure it existed there somewhere.

"We have already _met_, Doctor."

"Goodbye," grumbled McCoy, shrugging in surrender.

"Energize," the captain nodded as he gave the order.

This word always prompted Doctor McCoy to stare at the door-panels. It reassured him – as Spock explained one day – that there was something normal and constant in the room. He could travel down to unknown planets, one biological thread at a time, unsure if everything would click back into its correct place, scared of hostile strangers. Or, he could walk through a _door_, knowing _exactly _which way he should go, and the name of _everyone_ he passed.

They watched, staying quiet until McCoy was gone.

"Three months," said Spock, stepping away from the controls, "without your Chief Medical Officer."

"Three months, two weeks, and two days." Kirk stepped toward the familiar door, but Spock caught his arm.

"Captain," he said, "Doctor McCoy will _not _be present on the ship."

"No, Mister Spock." He paused and considered an appeal to the Vulcan's vocabulary, "Nurse Chapel is sufficiently qualified; she will be promoted for the duration of Doctor McCoy's absence."

Sharply, Spock dragged his hand away. Along with it, he uncovered an idea:

"I did not mean that. I meant, 'keep in touch.'"

He tried to replicate the exchange, but his fingers would not form the proper shape. The captain studied his officer's nervous hand.

"Ah…"

"Yes, Captain?"

"It's an old earth expression, Mister Spock." His variation of the pat was – by Spock's silent definition – perfect. The captain was completely comfortable; Spock felt this through the thin fabric of his uniform. He regretted the brief view this offered into Kirk's mind. A fraction of a second; a hot breath on the window, fading before it can be wiped away. No record, just regret.

"I am unaware of its figurative meaning, Captain."

Spock could not recreate the warmth of Jim's mind. He would wait for an opportunity to repeat the action, more correctly.

"To…" Kirk's hands sifted through the air, in search of his next word, "maintain contact."

Captain Kirk's eyes wandered over Spock's face. He found no trace of recognition or embarrassment.

"Communication," he continued, "It expresses _hope_; longing not to be forgotten."

_Hope_ was precisely what Spock had seen, the moment Jim touched him. The feeling throbbed in the captain's fingertips, more clearly than his pulse. Spock felt it now, conversing with his forgotten heart.

"It is not an order?"

Kirk shook his head, but maintained a smile.

"Then Doctor McCoy does not _need _to… keep in touch."

"I guess not," Kirk said, "But he will."

"Faith is often flawed, Captain."

"Oh? Do you not have faith in me, Mister Spock?"

"I said 'often', Captain."

The captain nodded, and walked out of the room. Spock followed obediently behind. They stopped upon reaching a wall-communicator. Jim stared into it.

"Captain Kirk to Lieutenant Uhura."

Her face appeared on the screen.

"Uhura here, Sir."

"The time please, Lieutenant."

"We have not had recent contact with earth-bases, Captain. Current approximation is twenty-three-hundred hours, Sir."

Kirk's eyes stopped often on their patrol of the screen. He considered the time.

"Have Scotty report to the Bridge, Lieutenant. I'll be taking my night-shift. And have Mister Chekov cover Mister Spock's station, temporarily."

"Aye, Sir," she grinned, "Sleep well."

Uhura's image faded. Kirk glanced back at Spock, who offered only silence and a quirked brow.

"I intend to return to my station," the Vulcan said, "If you do not require anything else."

"We just passed the elevator, Mister Spock."

"So we have."

They were both aware of the practice; Spock did not find it polite to leave the captain until safely reaching his quarters. Not once had Kirk invented another order, while they walked. Most often, the journey was completely silent.

Kirk paused before his door. Spock's hand hovered forward, drawn to the captain's shoulder. He understood the feeling, hope. There was some logic in it; _longing not to be forgotten_. Expertly, he devoted all of his focus to the phrase and the feeling. Warmth. Enough for Spock to shut his eyes, and reach for Jim's thoughts…

He felt Jim's hand over his. Cold and shattering. He stepped back.

Their gazes were short and cyclical; a storm and its eye. Kirk's hand did not move.

"The literal meaning," he said, "is perfectly acceptable, Mister Spock."


	2. Cold

Captain Kirk could not form his questions. Several swerved past each other in his mind, but always crashed before stretching down to his vocal cords. Weakly, he raised his hand and spread his fingers over the light. It burned his eyes.

The doctor was pleased with his instincts; he turned to face the patient, as soon as he managed to lift both hands.

"How are you feeling, Jim?"

The hands retracted, settling against his face. He did not understand the patches and plaster he found there, hot and gummy.

"Bones," he mumbled. His mind was still cloudy, and he stumbled behind the question. He blinked, "Cold."

"That's the Molior-Cruor Injection. It's only temporary."

"Cold," Jim repeated. He stiffened his arms, leaned against the wall, and tried to stand. Doctor McCoy pressed him down, with minimal effort, and went to retrieve a blanket.

Kirk was determined, and shuffled to rest against the wall, hair brushing the screen that displayed his vital-signs.

"Spock?"

McCoy returned, unfolded the blanket, and tilted his head toward the door, where Spock's voice echoed:

"Here, Captain."

"Good," the word plagued him, "I need…"

"Sleep," said the doctor, fastening the blanket to the corners of the bed. Kirk could not protest.

Satisfied, Doctor McCoy studied the screen again before returning to his work. He sorted vials in the cabinet, making notes of those they needed to refresh on their next Star-Base visit.

Spock remained at his post – acting as they door's lock – and watching the doctor work.

The room was quiet, apart from the occasional clack of fingernails against bottles and hums from Jim's monitors. Gradually, the song increased in volume. Spock turned his attention to it, even before the well-trained McCoy.

"The captain is continuing to lose blood, Doctor."

Doctor McCoy glanced up at the science officer, shrugging and muttering:

"I thought you were back on the Bridge."

"I have provided Mister Sulu with our course, and alerted Engineer Scott of the circumstances. I will go where I am needed."

"And you think I need you _here_?" Doctor McCoy arranged the finished vials, and pressed a button. The cabinet door skidded shut.

Beneath the blanket, the captain's fingers twitched. He rolled onto his side but found no comfort.

"His body-temperature will fall accordingly, Doctor."

"Thank you, Spock," he filed away his notes.

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Of course not," he collected several vials, and compared their contents by shaking them, "What gave you that idea?"

Spock began to recite his answer, but was quickly redirected. He was aware of the meaning of 'rhetorical', the doctor's new favorite word, especially when accompanied with his dismissive wave.

McCoy approached the table, where Kirk was struggling to open his eyes and shivering beneath the blanket. Accordingly, his spiraling progress was reflected on the monitors. The doctor prepared an injection, apologizing for the forthcoming coldness, even though he was sure Jim couldn't hear him. There was a quick puff of air, as the serum entered Jim's bloodstream. His eyes remained tightly shut.

"Come on, Jim," McCoy's focus could not settle between the captain and the charts. He glanced at Spock, who stood resolutely between the door-panels. Machines beeped and red lights flickered.

"His heart-rate, Doctor." Spock did not approach the bed, so McCoy refused to look at him. He gave all of his attention to his patient, trying to assign the face and blood and horrible whirring to anyone but his friend. He found it harder to focus, when personally attached to a case. His trouble was _always _making a personal attachment. Spock's was the opposite; he continued giving instructions from the doorway.

Doctor McCoy sifted through the drawers of his desk, finding nothing particularly useful. He would disregard the Sauraian brandy for as long as possible; although he knew it would raise Jim's temperature temporarily, it would not blend well with the medicine already swimming through his veins.

"Jim," he set down his final selection; a tube of metallic tablets, "I need you to take this."

There was no response, apart from the gritty whine of the monitors.

The doctor sighed, and dropped a pill into one of the vials. After it dissolved, he provided it as Jim's third injection. For a moment, the shaking stopped.

So did the beeping.

And McCoy, completely; he paused between breaths.

Spock oversaw everything, silently, without even leaning forward. The moments were tense, but he ignored them.

The captain opened his eyes, earning a relieved sigh from Doctor McCoy.

"Feeling alright, Jim?"

"Still cold," he said, more confidently.

McCoy returned to his desk and twisted the cap from the bottle of brandy.

"I'm a doctor," he said, mostly to the bottle, "not your personal ray of sunshine."

The captain grinned, and tugged the blanket up to cover his shoulders.

"A wonderfully correct analogy," said Spock. Again, McCoy's awareness of him had elapsed. He turned sharply.

"You don't have anything to say to the captain?" he prompted.

"I have received no update from the Bridge. I must assume everything is proceeding as planned."

Doctor McCoy tossed his head to one side.

"Mister Spock," he said, intently pouring the brandy, "I believe you're more cold and sterile than a whole army of operating tables."

Kirk watched, amused, and weakly accepted his mostly-empty glass. With a smile, he clinked the edge against the doctor's matching cup, and leaned against the back of the bed. Spock took a casual step forward.

"Do you mean that in the medical sense, Doctor?"

He set down his glass. He would not finish it, in case Jim required further professional attention.

"That would be a logical assumption, wouldn't it, Mister Spock?"

"_Bones_," said Kirk, dryly.

"As I am sure you are aware, Doctor, Vulcans maintain a lower temperature than humans, in order to contrast the extreme heat of our home planet. This part of your assumption is correct."

He returned to his position by the door, and only continued once he was facing the panels:

"I cannot _confirm_ the validity of the second part of your statement, Doctor. Although it is logical; my parents are of different races, and share only a nominal percentage of useful evolutionary traits. Although it is a ne—"

"Never mind," lulled the doctor. Spock had learned of this phrase, too; he redirected his words.

"I have a more permanent solution to the captain's condition," he said, glaring at the alcohol. McCoy set it back in the drawer.

"I'm right here, Spock," said Jim, attempting a shrug. Only one shoulder complied, but McCoy completed it for him. Spock stared.

"You can raise the temperature of the Sickbay," he said, controlling every syllable, "and I will remain here with the captain. You will be free to return to your quarters, where you will be more comfortable."

McCoy accepted this with a gentle nod. He tapped the thermostat on his way out of the room.

"I take back what I said earlier," he offered, as the doors swished open, "You're here because you're too _warm _for your home-planet, aren't you?"

He did not expect an answer, and let the doors close behind him. Hot air seeped in from the panels on the ceiling and the floor. Kirk shuffled beneath his blanket.

The Vulcan glanced at Captain Kirk, slanting one eyebrow.

"A compliment, Mister Spock," he said, "And the truth."


End file.
